


your woman's got an honest man

by singmyheart



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Post-Reynolds Pamphlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 11:01:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14447889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singmyheart/pseuds/singmyheart
Summary: Well, Schuyler family dinners were bound to be awkward for about the next… forever, probably. That was fair. He deserved that.





	your woman's got an honest man

**Author's Note:**

> this is a scene from between chapters 2 and 3 of [it does not suffice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6984511/chapters/15915310), my post-Reynolds pamphlet fic, from Alex's perspective - if you haven't read it, basically all you need to know is that everyone knows and Alex made a scene in front of the Schuylers. as you do.

 

 

Well, Schuyler family dinners were bound to be awkward for about the next… forever, probably. That was fair. He deserved that.

He clawed his way into wakefulness too early and no part of him was happy about it; splitting headache, his back screaming in protest. Eliza wasn’t in bed when he got up. Most of the house quiet and still when he found her in the kitchen, all of them speaking in hushed tones like someone had died. He didn’t see Angelica before they left, and wondered if things were this frosty between her and Church this morning. Managed a shamefaced goodbye to his in-laws — Phil shook his hand like always but he had that hard flinty-eyed look he got sometimes, jaw set. It flared up in Alex like it hadn’t since he was a kid, shot straight past irritation to anger so swiftly and completely it scared him a little. But it passed. Always did. At least they got out of there without making anything worse.

Eliza wouldn’t even look at him in the cab. He probably deserved that, too. The driver stepping in was a _bit_ much, he thought, the way she got all brisk with him like he was gonna make a scene — but then that, too, was over. Heard himself saying _okay, I’m done, I’m going,_ and they said their I love yous and he headed into the station so he didn’t have to watch the car pull away.

He bought an overpriced bucket-sized cup of coffee and a breakfast sandwich, and then another; by the time he got on the train bound for home he felt slightly more human. But he was wired, twitchy and tense with the unmistakable feeling that he’d forgotten something. Like Eliza was his spare USB key or Mets hoodie or something else he’d have to decide whether or not he could live without for now — or otherwise sheepishly call the Schuylers and ask them to send her along when they had the chance.

So the ride home sucked, and trying to get back to the apartment from the station sucked, and deciding halfway there to change course and swing by Gil’s instead sucked. Just delaying the inevitable. He couldn’t bring himself to go home without her, face his empty apartment. He’d never done that, not their home. Even when they’d first started dating, to spend a night apart was rare.

Even the night they met, she’d taken him home. She was wearing this tiny white dress it was way too cold out to be wearing, and took his denim jacket, old even then, when he offered it. On the wet sidewalk outside the bar he pulled her to him by its worn lapels and kissed her, sweet from the rye and gingers she drank. Sometimes it felt like he’d never stopped, like he was still trying to surprise that girl, still trying to impress her, make her laugh and touch his neck and say _well, you don’t waste time, do you?_ years down the line.

He stayed at Gil and Adrienne’s long enough to talk around the weekend, said something vague about Eliza wanting to get in some more sister time before Ange and Church took off again. If either knew he was lying they didn’t call him on it, didn’t seem to mind his attention drifting through the movie they were supposed to be watching, or the fact that he clearly hadn’t showered since yesterday morning — though he thought he caught Adrienne at one point, giving him one of those impossibly tender long looks she was prone to. They sent him home with food, too.

A distraction, that was what he needed. Wouldn’t do to flop around on the couch in his quiet house for the next few days being useless, wasting time, checking his phone every five minutes (Eliza usually texted, at least, to say goodnight. She’d changed her name in his contacts to _Wifey_ ages ago, with the bird emoji next to it, and the sparkly heart). Found he couldn’t focus on any of the usual small ways to occupy himself, though, not a long shower or Netflix or the piece he should’ve been working on. Opened a window for the breeze but even the street noise, normally a comforting murmur beyond his fire escape, got under his skin tonight. This was a slight almost more than he could bear: he’d barely slept in Albany, so unsettling and total was the quiet, and now his city would keep him up too. Just in case he forgot how bad he’d fucked up.

(Okay, he was being dramatic. Sue him.)

Distraction: he had just enough green left to pack a bowl, and that helped, some. Chased it with a couple of beers and that didn’t hurt either, drew down some of this restlessness. Didn’t get rid of it completely, though; a little of that nagging feeling remained. He almost wanted to laugh when he realized what it was — still felt like he should call Maria. Take advantage of whatever hours without Eliza that he could.

This must have been the first time, first chance he’d had for that since Maria had stopped answering his texts. Months ago, now. They’d had a Talk, and it was fucking awful. Pulled no punches. Met up in the park in the hope of keeping potential dramatics to a minimum, which it did. Alex had (half-heartedly) hoped it might stop them from fucking, also, which it didn’t. She called him an asshole and a liar and dragged him into one of those hellish public bathrooms, kissed him and bit his lip almost hard enough to bleed. Like he was nineteen again and all she had to do to get him on his knees was be a pretty girl who could do better, swearing up and down this was the last time, she never did this, whatever. Nineteen-year-old Alex couldn’t have conceived of this, married and expecting with a bad shoulder and a midlife crisis before thirty-five.  

He missed her, a little. That was all. Knew he shouldn’t, knew it was over and done, he really did. But. This was an occasion, wasn’t it, in a morbid kind of way.

Her voicemail greeting was the same, in a variation on her perky customer-service voice: _Hi, it’s Maria. Leave me a message._

“Hey, beautiful,” he said. Cleared his parched throat and for all of a second he’d have killed someone with his bare hands for a cigarette. “Uh, hi. I just wanted — I’m kind of tipsy, I guess, and I was —” Huffed a laugh, self-consciously, and hated it. “No, I’m not gonna lie to you. More than that. I’ve had a few, and I’m alone and climbing the walls and I — missed you. Not that I expect you to, like, do anything with that information, or whatever, I just… wanted to hear your voice, I guess. Apparently I’m SOL on that one. Anyway, I’ll — fuck. Christ. I’m gonna let you go. Bye, babe.”

He woke with a jolt, some hours later, didn’t even know he’d dozed off. Infomericals blaring on the TV and a vicious crick in his neck. Cold, too; the night had gotten chilly and his bare arms were covered in goosebumps. His mouth felt like something had died in it. His phone silent, no missed calls, texts, nothing.

It hit the far wall and then the hardwood floor with a thud and a crunch. Left a dark, obvious scuff on the paint and he was weirdly satisfied for a second, until his shoulder twinged angrily as if to say, _well done, idiot._ Well. He’d replace it in the morning. He snagged the throw blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped himself in it and shuffled to bed, left the living room a mess, his shoes in the hall where he’d kicked them off. Never did get back to sleep.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> title from "Go Home" by Dessa. I'm on tumblr @menschinresidence, come say hi.


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